The time of last 

Knowing it’s the last time they savour it 

Every sense alive and desperate to devour 

Force themselves to eke out each morsel, crumb, sight, sound 

To etch upon memory for when there’s 

Nothing, none, all gone 

Living on memories shrouded in silver light 

The little things ingrained and sharpened 

Did they say this? Feel that? 

Were parts harmlessly imagined 

To apply a balm to the wound an ending day brings 

Does it matter if the essence is unchanged? 

If the truth is polished like glistening silver 

Perfume from flowers which bloomed longer 

In images they create to remember a brighter day 

They look only to replicate a better future 

So let them make it their perfect 

Their wonderful may be your mundane 

Does it matter if it glints a shade brighter? 

Illuminating the end 

Allow the poet license, the storyteller space 

All of us have a tale to tell 

Tell it your way with grace to return the same favour
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

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